Page 83 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
She couldn’t solve a murder.
And she wouldn’t be a ballerina.
She was a failure.
An utter despicable failure.
Quinn crumbled to her knees and let the agony consume her. It was unclear how long she stayed on the floor, rolled into the fetal position, refusing to cry. Eventually, she pulled herself off the floor to face her next fear.
But with each room, the fear elevated, and in the sixth room, Giselle appeared.
“Oh, thank the gods,” Giselle said and flung her arms around her friend. “This place is horrible, absolutely horrible.” Her voice cracked.
“Yes, it is.” Quinn sunk into the comfort of a friend.
The hug eased all the residual fears lingering over from the previous rooms. Giselle’s presence would help her get through whatever came in the last two rooms.
But pain ripped through her core, and she jerked. Her gaze fell to the knife protruding from her chest. Her knees buckled, and a vicious Giselle caught her limp body.
“Why,” Quinn whispered, blood bubbling from her lips.
Giselle cocked her head like a bird of prey. “Didn’t you know you’ve always been the pathetic one? Never good enough to be with us.” Jevon and Constance appeared at Giselle’s sides; their smiles equally feral.
The scene repeated, each time a different friend stabbed her in the chest and betrayed her.
The last room was the worst.
The last room was pure devastation.
Giselle, Jevon, Jane, and Constance’s lifeless bodies rested in a pool of blood, their eyes staring sightlessly at the sky. Quinn ran in and cradled Giselle to her chest. Tears freely rolled down her cheeks, and she rocked back and forth, whispering sorrow into her best friend’s ear.
Quinn was inconsolable, her hands shaking, and her heart shattered into a million pieces. She wanted to crawl into darkness and never return. She wanted to die and trade her life for her best friends. She clutched Giselle’s icy pale hands as a guttural scream escaped her lips.
Giselle was the strong one. The rock. The one who kept them all together. The one person Quinn allowed to see her most flawed pieces.
This couldn’t be reality.
The thought tore Quinn from the vision, and she suddenly remembered that it wasn’t true. It was a wicked mirror.
Time poured out as she tried to get herself to move. Knowing something was false and believing it were two different things.
She’d felt the body in her arms. It felt so real.
So true.
But eventually, Quinn sucked in a silted breath and reached for the final door. As she turned the knob, the mirror spoke sinister words. “Four of your greatest fears will come to be. Perhaps next time, you won’t come to me, for every mirror bestows a consequence.”
The final room appeared to be a normal messy bedroom with papers strewn all over. On one of the walls was a map and prison escape plans and on another hung a painting of a ballerina center stage at the Royalle Ballet.
After spending about ten minutes examining the plans and the painting, Quinn was at a loss for what it all meant.
It was another dead end.
Another lead that went absolutely nowhere.
A pulse stroked up Quinn’s bones but not from fear, shock, or surprise. Jane said that the key unlocked her secrets. That it would lead her to the truth.
The Royalle Ballet.
